


Key To The Heart

by SerpentineJ



Category: Psych
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fill, ish, ok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2015-02-26
Packaged: 2018-03-15 06:46:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3437471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentineJ/pseuds/SerpentineJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re the bastard who keeps parking right in front of my house so I retaliated by keying your car and you caught me” AU, Shass-ified. Carlton keeps unknowingly stealing Shawn's spot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Key To The Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MuiromeM](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuiromeM/gifts).



> NOTE: Okay so I couldn't resist writing a quick thing based on one of the prompts on a tumblr post Muiromem reblogged. So here, you can have it.

Shawn scowled as he tugged off his helmet, tucking it under his arm and kicking the stand out on his motorcycle.

This was getting ridiculous.

Every day after he finished his three am shift at the diner down the street he would bike back to the apartment complex he was currently calling home, exhausted, wracked with insomnia, and really not in the mood to deal with someone who thought they could take his parking space.

The one in front of his door! Motorcycles needed to park too!

He left his bike at the curb, whipping out his keys and advancing on the offending Ford (maroon, rounded bumpers, well-kept and cleaned regularly) with malicious intent simmering in his eyes. The scraping of the metal against the dark red paint job screeched through the still Santa Barbara night air, making Shawn smirk with all the righteous petulance of a twenty-five year old nomad revisiting his hometown, running on two and a half cold waffles and the same amount of sleep.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

A deep voice, sleep-gravelly and laced with danger, sounds from behind him. Crap. He'd been caught; it might be time to move apartments again... or cities, if the witness pressed charges. Spencer whirled around.

Damn.

The man before him is tall, lanky and lean, almost sickly pale beneath the cheap lamplight of the streetlight. Dark purple circles shadowed his eyes, which, even though it's three am and the man must be immeasurably tired, are a bright, piercing blue, critically pinning him to the spot with his gaze alone. His suit jacket is cheap but well-pressed; large, calloused hands, holding a ring of keys, including those to a Ford, no ring. The owner of the car, then. Larger ears, sharp eyebrows, short-cut, salt and pepper hair- overall, the man was unnervingly handsome, oddly put together, for having just found a strange man keying his car in the wee hours of the morning.

Then Shawn caught sight of the holster, the slight bulge under his left arm, and he straightened up.

Not in uniform, so a detective. The authoritative stance and gaze implied a leadership position, so head detective, probably headed back into the station to work on a case.

"'Morning, detective!" He chirped, sliding the keys into his back pocket, grinning his most charming smile. "How can I-"

The man frowned, taking a step forward. "You were keying my goddamn car. Who are you working for?"

Spencer cocked his head, taken aback. Obviously the 'innocence' route wasn't going to work with this one; time for plan B. The truth. "Working for?" He asked, crossing his arms. "Absolutely no-one." Gesturing towards his motorcycle, he continued, "Although you have been stealing my parking space for the past month."

There was a pause.

"And you decided to key my freaking car?" The other glared, seeming to come to better grips with the situation. "Who the hell are you? I'll have you in cuffs!"

The brunet chuckled. "Kinky. I don't put out until the third date, though."

A flush immediately worked its way up the man's neck, barely visible under the humming fluorescent lights, but Shawn could see the darkening of the tips of his ears and the slight widening of his eyes.

"Alright, that's it." The detective marched towards him, grabbing his handcuffs from his belt and snatching Shawn's wrist with the other. "You're under arrest for vandalism. You have the right to remain silent; anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of- mmpf-"

Shawn cut him off by sealing their lips together, wriggling his wrists out of the cuffs when the officer was distracted. The other man didn't respond, and Spencer pulled away before he can react; he glances at the apartment key on the key ring in his hand. Apt. 307.

Interesting.

"Sorry 'bout that!" He winked and darted away before the detective could come to and smack him. "I'll reimburse you for the damage, promise."

By the time the other man began to overcome the shock of the events, the peppy vandal had disappeared, the only evidence he had ever been there the motorcycle parked by the curb of the complex, the scratches on the door of his Ford, and his slightly sensitized lips.

~~~~~~

When Carlton arrived back at his apartment from work the next day, shoulders slumped and mind screaming for a drink, there was an envelope stuck on his door with masking tape.

He opened it.

_Dear Detective Grumpy,_

_Hi! It's the guy who keyed your car. I've enclosed enough cash to pay for repairs, as long as you stop stealing my spot. Or at least scoot over enough for me to fit my bike in. ;)_

_H &K's,_

_Shawn Spencer, Apt. 274_

There was enough cash to pay for a new paint job in the envelope, interestingly enough, and Lassiter couldn't help scoffing.

Ridiculous.

~~~~~~

The day after that, when Shawn pulled up to the parking lot, the Detective's car was in his spot again, though-

It was on the side.

There was enough space for a motorcycle.

Spencer let out a laugh.

~~~~~~

A couple days into their new arrangement, Shawn found a ticket on the dash of his bike.

He picked it up and found that, in lieu of the usual "reasons for a ticket" on the blank on the slip of paper, a message was penned neatly on the tan sheet.

_Spencer,_

_I've put in a request for an expansion of this parking lot, so we won't have to share a space anymore. Your motorcycle is insufferable, just like you._

_But you can contact me at (805)790-2377._

_-Head Detective Carlton Lassiter_

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: So. Yeah. This... kind of happened.


End file.
